


Travelling Together

by lazarus_girl



Series: Saudade Series [3]
Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:45:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl/pseuds/lazarus_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Things are beginning to add up in her mind.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Travelling Together

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [15genres1prompt](http://15genres1prompt.livejournal.com). Genre: Hurt/Comfort. Prompt: Lost. Inspired by the Jack’s Mannequin song ['Caves'](http://www.wat.tv/audio/caves-jack-mannequin-2u1qj_2ijz7_.html).
> 
> Follows S3 canon and references the summer between S3 and S4. Set no later than 4x03 “Cook." Disregards the Sophia storyline.

This is the fifth day she’s been confined to bed, but it feels much longer, and not just because she can’t remember a moment in the last few weeks when she’s felt fine. It’s just been one long, grinding cycle of Emily, college, home, and partying on repeat since September, and she’s lost all sense of time. She fully intended to go to college today, but she can barely lift her head, never mind pull back the bedclothes.

She doesn’t take to it easily, this being ill business. It brings out her stubborn streak full-force, and she makes a terrible patient, not because she craves attention and whinges, but because she just refuses to _be_ ill. It gets in the way of who she is. Ever since she can remember, she’s always needed to be busy, up and doing things. She usually just gets on with it, beats whatever it is into submission, refusing to take any of her mum’s frankly rather suspicious looking herbal remedies or Kieran’s equally dubious, brightly-coloured over-the-counter offerings. Through her childhood she saw off all the usual – measles, chicken pox, tonsillitis – plus a broken arm when she was ten, still fond of climbing trees; a broken leg the summer before she started secondary school when she got knocked off her bike; and food poisoning after a school trip to France in Year 11 – without too much fuss.

This already feels different. It’s taking too long to shake off. This _thing_ , whatever it is, has felled her completely, and she hates it.

Last Saturday, it was just an annoying cold that made her cough her way through the day, as she moped round in her cardigan, nose streaming. It was her own fault for not changing as soon as she came home. She drank away her bus fair and had to walk all the way home from town, caught off-guard by an early November cold snap. With Emily chattering away as they walked close together, ever so slightly drunk, she didn’t have time to moan, distracted by what was going on. They held each other tight, touched unnecessarily, and kissed whenever they felt like it. Being chivalrous, she gave her jacket away – slightly too big on Emily’s shoulders – when Emily shuddered against the cold. She didn’t even care when it started to rain either, because Emily just took her hand and they ran, until they were giddy and breathless, kissing on the corner of Emily’s road like they never would again. By the time she got home, she was soaked to the skin, sneezing as she stumbled up the stairs.

Yesterday, everything took twice as long as it normally should. Despite barely moving all day and a solid twelve hours of sleep, it felt like she’d barely slept at all, her body overcome with heaviness. After a while, her mum stopped calling up the stairs to ask if she was coming down and barged in instead, to find her huddled, foetal on the bed. One moment, she was shivering with cold and the next, kicking off the duvet, her temperature through the roof. The numbers on its monitor read a hundred and three. Everything else that happened after that is a blur.

Today, she didn’t even try to move, resigned to it. Her mum came in an hour ago to bring her tea and toast, tucking her in like she was six. She wasn’t sure if she could face either – they’ve long since gone cold – but her mum left them anyway, just in case. Her parting words were firm ones, saying that college, and anything _but_ rest was well and truly out of the question. She didn’t dare argue.

She doesn’t really miss the actual work part of college, since she often reads ahead on her own, and spends most of her classes bored out of her mind as a result. Truth be told, she’s probably a bit too good for Roundview, but she doesn’t get half as much hassle as she did at school – most of the girls in her class never made it to sitting their GCSEs – and the grades she gets look good on their results tables, so it’s a win-win situation. It’s who she sees at college, the social side of it all, that’s become more important to her. Being around people and having actual _friends_ still feels odd. She’s never really had people she could call that before and actually believe it to be true– well, except for Emily, but they’ve known each other for longer.

It’s small, stupid things she misses about them, that she wouldn’t ordinarily give a great deal of thought to, but now she’s holed up in her room alone, there’s nothing to do but _think_. She misses smoking with Effy on the green; playing pool with Cook and Freddie in the common room; sitting with Katie and reading her surprisingly entertaining gossip magazines; trying decipher Pandora; even JJ’s stupid fucking magic tricks. She can’t decide whether to be impressed that she finally has a group of people in her life that she doesn’t hate with every fibre of her being, or be appalled for exactly the same reason. Not seeing them, well, that’s survivable, fixed after a few phone calls, texts, jokes or picture messages. What’s not so survivable is going for days with those same things being her only form of contact with Emily. Without her, she’s just restless, frustrated, mind-numbingly bored, and rather lonely. She’s forgotten what it was like when the only company she had was her own, and whatever her music and books offered as escape. Even they’re out of her reach now.

Sadly, seeing her girlfriend – that label is still new, so new just the thought of it makes her smile – isn’t an ‘any time’ occurrence these days. It’s snatched, achingly brief moments between classes or on walks home. It’s clandestine meetings in the beer garden of The Fishponds well away from prying eyes. It’s sneaking around behind Emily’s parents backs, climbing over their garden fence and shinning up their drainpipe, all for a few precious minutes of bliss. Emily’s worth the trouble. Worth the battle scars of scraped knees from the window ledge, scratches from the rose bushes, and the bruises that pop up out of nowhere.

It wasn’t always like this. She didn’t always have to fight.

Their summer together was blissful, idyllic in the truest sense. Days were spent mostly in bed with the curtains drawn. That’s when they truly discovered each other, she thinks, skin to skin underneath her sheets, kissing Emily in places she could only ever dream of. Nights were spent mostly drinking and what they thought passed for dancing with Katie, Freddie and whoever else tagged along. In between, they went to the lake, their lake, more times than she can count. Everything was shared. Plans they made for travelling the world, with nothing but a pin in a map to guide them. Picnic food and the cigarettes, passed between them as they stretched out in the sun after swimming. Excerpts of whatever novel she’d come across that week, just because Emily liked to lie with her head in her lap and listen while she read aloud. Best of all, were the seemingly endless kisses and lazy afternoon love-making wrapped in the tartan blanket Emily brought along that first time, when neither of them had any real idea of what lay ahead.

At one point in time, she thought Emily going off to France with her family was the worst kind of torture. It was their first time apart since the Love Ball, and it hurt. She tried to not let it effect her, because Emily was doing enough worrying for them both, and trying to find any way to get out of it, but, typically, Jenna was the one who dug her heels in, guilt-tripping Emily and Katie both with the fact that it would probably be their last holiday as a family. She didn’t just miss Emily’s company, she missed _her_ entirely, most obviously when she woke up each morning alone. The only thing that kept her going was their nightly phone call – that almost always ended in tears of some kind – and the knowledge that the separation wouldn’t last.

Now, she knows that France was just a test run for the rules to be enforced as soon as Emily came back. Once college, coursework, and exams started to loom, all the freedom they’d taken for granted disappeared with it. Jenna put her foot down again and told Emily that family came first, and they had to see each other less. That she needed to focus and concentrate on her studies and widen her circle of friends. They got away with the secret meetings for a while, until one morning, a few days before college started, when Rob caught them in bed together. All they’d done – unusually – was sleep, and they tried to explain, but Jenna wouldn’t listen to reason. Since then, she’s been banned from the house and Emily’s not allowed mention her.

All this is breaking her heart, slowly, painfully, and the repairs are taking longer each time it happens. It breaks twice over, repeatedly. Once for Emily and once for herself. She knows why Jenna’s doing it: to wear them down and to weaken them, in the faint hope that one day, Emily will love her less or not at all. It’s not working. If anything, it’s had the opposite effect. Their feelings are stronger, and they’re more determined than ever to keep on seeing each other, counting down the minutes until they can find a way to be together again.

She doesn’t know when she began to need Emily as well as love her.

It feels like Emily’s the only person that can comfort her or will make her feel the tiniest bit better. The fact she’s not here, that she can’t be – she got grounded on Sunday for daring to try and visit – just makes everything worse. Reaching for her phone, she scrolls through the pictures, stopping on her favourite one of Emily, taken at the lake, with her newly-dyed hair – ‘Passion Red’ according to the box – and aviator sunglasses, lips puckered up in a kiss, just for her. She smiles sadly, brushing her thumb against the screen, wishing Emily wasn’t so far away.

***

The loud, jarring sound of the doorbell melody jolts her awake. She’s not sure when she fell asleep, but her phone’s still in her hand, clutched to her chest. When she moves it away, she sees Emily’s picture still on the screen, along with notifications of several missed calls. Half the day’s disappeared without her notice, it’s well after one o’clock.

Downstairs, she hears voices, first, Kieran’s loud, somewhat rough Irish lilt, and then, a softer, raspier voice. One that’s even more familiar to her ear. It’s immediately soothing, dulling the edge of the headache that flared as soon as she opened her eyes. Her brain is slow to put it all together; drip-feeding into her consciousness. Then it hits her, Damascus, eureka, and Christmas, all at once with twice the euphoria: Emily’s here. Emily’s _here_.

She struggles to sit up, but it requires more effort than she can muster, so she just slumps back down again, running a hand through her hair in the hope it’ll make her look presentable. The last time they saw each other, she looked pretty decent, if a little worse for wear thanks to their night out. Now, she looks terrible, with dark circles under her eyes, a deathly pallor – according to her mum – and a nose like Rudolph from blowing it so much. Oh, and her room’s a tip, with cups, glasses, bowls, and tissues on what looks like every surface. Emily won’t care about any of that, but she can’t help feeling a little self-conscious.

Their voices get closer, and the creak of the stairs give away movement, even though it’s obvious they’re trying be quiet.

“Where are you supposed to be then?” Kieran whispers, rather loudly.

“Mr Reeves. History,” Emily answers. “We’re doing The Unification of Italy,” she sounds a little nervous, as if she thinks Kieran might send her packing.

She knows it’s a risk for her to come here. A pretty big one, and not just because she’s wagging college to do it.

“Spoiler for you ... It already happened.”

She hears Emily stifle a laugh. “Good to know.”

“Well, I’m supposed to be in a fucking departmental budget meeting. I weighed up my options and decided gouging out my eyes was preferable,” Kieran deadpans, chuckling a little to himself. “Anyway, don’t worry yourself. I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Promise,” Emily replies, sweetly.

“Right, you go and make madam feel better, which I’m sure you’re well qualified to do. I, sadly, must return to the scintillating delights of First Year essays. Turns out, that’s a lot like gouging your eyes out too!”

With that, Kieran thunders down the stairs, muttering things that she can’t quite hear, but there’s a lot of ‘fucking hell’ and ‘bureaucratic bullshit’ peppered with some less than kind comments about the intellect of the Lower Sixth.

“Good luck!” Emily calls, singsong.

“I’ll fucking need it!” Kieran shouts.

She hears Emily take a breath, readying herself. Then, there’s a gentle rap on the door, and she pops her head round, smiling at her brightly. Just seeing her standing there brings relief. It’s ridiculous and trite, she’s aware, but it’s true. Emily’s turned her into a love struck cliché, and it sometimes results in her doing or thinking things she used to despise in other people.

“Hello gorgeous.”

It’s Emily’s standard greeting whenever they meet, what she texts her every morning without fail – and its goodnight counterpart each night. There’s nothing better than hearing it from her lips, but today it feels even more important.

“Liar,” she scoffs, barely able to hear herself speak. “I look like shit!”

It hurts to talk much more than yesterday. Her throat feels completely raw, and it’s difficult to swallow. She watches Emily flinch at the sound.

“Oh babe.” Emily tilts her head, looking at her sadly. “Look at you.”

Emily pushes the door closed and it catches on the carpet. The brushing sounds all too loud, making her skin crawl. Now properly inside, she can see that Emily’s completely loaded up, with her moped helmet sticking out of her college bag, and she’s carrying another plastic bag. It has the familiar pink and white stripes of Mr Sharma’s shop.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I know,” there’s a flicker of delight on her face. “But I wanted to see you.” It disappears when she adds, “I’ve been worried.”

“Made of strong stuff, me,” she clears her throat, wishing away the cough that’s desperate to escape. “Your mum will kill you,” she pushes herself up against the pillows, but slides back down again just like before.

“Fuck her. I’ve had enough,” Emily exclaims, and then, devilish smile spreads across her face. “What she doesn’t know …”

She smiles, shaking her head, proud of Emily’s latest act of rebellion, pushing away the worry that gnaws at her, somewhere deep and dark, right at the back of her mind. It’s the place where the quiet, sensible version of her always lives. Some chances need to be taken, with both hands. They can worry about Jenna and her stupid fucking rules later. For now, she’s just glad that Emily’s here.

“I come baring gifts,” Emily continues, still smiling as she crosses the room, shrugging off her jacket. “Garibaldis!” she waves the packet and puts them on her beside table. “Lucozade, and some Dairy Milk for when you’re feeling better,” she pauses for effect. “And, chicken soup,” she beams at her, holding up a silver flask. “I made it for you this morning, Katie helped …” she flushes with embarrassment, placing the flask down, tidying a little as she goes. “Oh, and I bought our friend, Audrey. To continue your education in all things Hepburn!” the light in her eyes and her voice is back. She presents the DVD of Breakfast at Tiffany’s with a flourish, like it’s the most precious thing she could give.

She looks away smiling shyly, embarrassed, unused to being lavished with attention even now. It’s still weird to share her life and her world with someone, and to have that same someone care to the degree that Emily does. That constant nagging feeling that she doesn’t deserve Emily surges back up. She still has so many walls up, and Emily’s so patient. She can’t quite believe that her patience hasn’t run out. She’s still terrified that someone or something will take Emily away, and she’ll be all alone again.

“Emily,” is all she can say, her voice straining, heavy with emotion. If she had the energy, she’d pull her on to the bed and kiss her to death.

“You’re welcome,” Emily replies, as she opens the window to let in some fresh air and turns to sit on the edge of the bed. “I just wanted to make you feel a bit better,” she continues, leaning forward as if to kiss her.

She holds up a hand. “Be careful,” she takes a breath, feeling the tickle of a cough in the back of her throat, itching to escape. “Might be … contagious.”

Emily shrugs and shakes her head. “I don’t care.”

She leans back, letting Emily move closer, because trying to argue with her is pointless. They’re both as stubborn as each other. Emily scoots forward, brushing the hair from her eyes, kissing her gently, as if she might shatter if their lips press together too firmly.

“Been far too long since I did that,” she says, in a whisper, looking at her carefully and stroking her cheek with the back of her hand. It feels cool against her skin, and she realised how much she’s longed for this. “I missed you so much.”

She smiles. “Me too.”

There’s more she wants – needs – to say, but she can’t, it’s too difficult. Instead, she looks into Emily’s eyes, hoping that’s enough. It feels like years rather than days since they’ve seen each other. She tries to settle, uncomfortably hot again, just as she had been all night. She pushes off the covers, grabbing at her t-shirt, feeling it stick to her skin.

As if sensing it, Emily reaches, puts a hand to her forehead, “You’re hot.”

“Thanks.”

“ _Naomi_.”

It’s a warning. A gentle one, but a warning nonetheless.

“You should change that babe, it’s soaking,” she motions to her t-shirt.

She attempts to lift the hem, but she’s too weak. She sighs, frustrated.

“Let me help you,” Emily offers, gently.

She swallows, breathes out what might be a sneeze. “Just trying to get me naked.”

The memory of them together, mere weeks ago, pressed against her bedroom door in the middle of the afternoon drifts into her mind. Emily, kissing her for all she’s worth, hands pulling impatiently at each other’s clothes. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Emily smirks, entering into her playfulness this time. She doesn’t like what that might mean. “I’m only here for your body.”

Just like she knew she would be, Emily’s gentle, carefully peeling off the t-shirt, and not letting her lift a finger, like a nurse or someone’s mum. She watches her intently as she goes through her t-shirt drawer, stopping every so often to take out something that’s caught her attention. It shouldn’t surprise her really, not with the photos and videos she’s seen of when she was little, looking after baby dolls, and proudly showing off her badges from Brownies. It crosses her mind that she’d make a good mother, a good wife some day. What _is_ surprising, is that she lets herself imagine, albeit briefly, that Emily would be the mother of _her_ children, be _her_ wife. She’s never thought that about anyone before. Never dared to let herself imagine Emily that way.

She feels sick, suddenly, with nerves, fear, excitement, all together and all at once, topped off with the overwhelming urge to tell Emily everything she’s just imagined for them. One day she’ll have the courage. Today isn’t the day. It passes just as quickly as it arrived. Now, she’s just left with curious feeling instead, suddenly _very_ aware that she’s sat in nothing but her knickers, while Emily’s fully clothed. It’s stupid, because she sleeps naked, and they sleep together. Emily’s been in this bed thousands of times. They’ve whiled away hours, comfortable and content as they lay in each other’s arms, smoking and talking, never feeling like that time’s been wasted. This is the first time she’s felt truly naked and vulnerable with her in a long time.

“You OK?” Emily asks, turning to her after a moment. “You look really pale.”

There’s that flash of concern again. She nods in answer, seeing Emily’s expression change to something like horror.

“Where the _hell_ did they come from?!” she asks, rushing back to the bed, and kneeling down. “Jesus Naomi!”

Confused, she looks down at herself, and follows to where Emily’s fingertips are carefully tracing her thigh. Then, she reaches for her arm, bending it gently, turns her wrist. She’s covered in bruises, like she’s gone five rounds with Amir Khan. They’re all in various stages of bloom, from painfully new ones that are a blue-purple, to older, yellow-brown ones that don’t bother her at all. Emily looks sadder with each discovery. Things are beginning to add up in her mind. Things she doesn’t like. She’s always been accident prone, so she doesn’t notice them most of the time, and on the rare occasions she has, she just assumed they were from climbing in and out of Emily’s window. She likes assuming. She’ll assume for now.

“You know what I’m like,” she smiles weakly, ignoring how hollow her words sound.

They look at each other, and for once, Emily’s unreadable. Something passes between them that she can’t name, or doesn’t want to. She saw it in her mum’s eyes when she read her temperature.

“What am I gonna do with you?” Emily sighs, kissing her atop the head, an obvious attempt to break the tension that threatens to engulf them both. “Lucky I’m here to look after you, isn’t it?”

“It is,” her voice is barely there at all now.

“Look what I picked,” she says, smiling a little, unfurling the t-shirt in her hands.

A photograph of a pig stares back at her. Neither of them need to say anything else. They’re both reliving the same memory. Their lake in that one special, defining summer afternoon. Ever since, Emily’s worn it every time she stays over, and even though it’s been washed a few times since she was last here, the second its pulled over her head, she swears that Emily’s perfume lingers on it.

“There. Perfect,” Emily clasps her hands together. “I’ve always liked this one.”

“Biased,” she croaks out.

“And?” Emily grins, crawling on to the bed on the left side – she thinks of it as her side now, and can’t bear to sleep on it herself.

“I … love you for it.”

Her answer slips out before she realises it, but she won’t bother taking it back. She promised Emily she’d be honest with her and say what’s on her mind, so she does, when she can. Her defences are down in more ways than one. Secretly – or maybe not so secretly – she just said ‘I love you,’ and she knows that’s the only part of the sentence Emily really heard. The smile she gets in response from Emily is glorious, and she toys with leg of her jeans, suddenly shy.

She’s just about to say something else to fill the silence – because it still makes her a little bit anxious – when she feels the beginnings of a cough tickle at the back of her throat. Struggling to sit forward, and trying to catch her breath, she feels the bed dip when Emily moves, and then there’s a hand on her back, rubbing in slow circles, attempting to soothe her. With each cough, the sound gets louder, and there’s an unmistakable rattle. When it passes, and she’s recovered enough to look up at Emily, her face is etched with concern, but she covers it quickly.

“OK?” Emily asks, leaning over her for the glass of water on the beside table.

She takes slow, tiny sips, pushing through the pain that comes with swallowing. The pain that feels like it’s everywhere. The pain that, in turn, makes her body feel four times heavier, leaden. Emily’s hand is there again, supporting her. Anchoring her.

“Now you’re here,” she grips Emily’s free hand tightly, their fingers laced together. “Everything hurts,” she admits, exhaling a shallow breath.

“Oh Naomi,” Emily’s voice waivers, and she presses soft kiss to her cheek. “Lie back. Rest.”

“OK,” she concedes, she doesn’t have the energy to argue and lets Emily gently ease her backwards and fluff her pillows, covering her with just the sheet.

“You might feel better if you eat something,” Emily suggests, kneeling in front of her. “Try a bit of soup? For me?” she coaxes, sweetly, almost pouting. “Then we can cuddle and watch Audrey. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Emily nods, smiling her barely there smile, and reaches over for the soup flask, taking the cup off the top and unscrewing the cap. She hasn’t felt hungry for a few days now, but the warmth of it, and the fact that Emily’s made it just for her make it that little bit more inviting.

“For you, madame,” Emily says, presenting the cup with a flourish. “Bon appétit!”

It’s still piping hot, the steam rising up little plumes and smells amazing. She takes a careful sip, intrigued, watching as Emily opens the Audrey DVD and sets everything up. She still revels in little things; in being able to watch her do the most mundane things, no longer fearful of being caught looking.

“Nice?” Emily asks, trying to gauge her reaction when she comes back to her, crawling on the bed to sit with her against the pillows. She’s clearly nervous and it’s adorable.

She nods and Emily beams, turning to get the flask and topping her up with more. Nice doesn’t cover it really. It’s much better than anything she’s ever tasted from a tin, mostly because it actually tastes like chicken. With every sip, she feels a little brighter, and everything hurts a little less. There has to be something else in it beyond what she’s seen those posh chefs on the telly put in when they make theirs. It’s something intangible, a warmth that has nothing at all to do with the temperature. The same feeling fills her up whenever Emily makes her something, because she’s crap at cooking anything – sandwiches, cheese on toast, brownies, cake, and everything in between.

She smiles, lowering the cup, holding it in both hands. “Nigella better watch her back.”

They both look relieved when she sounds vaguely like her normal self. She looks down at the cup, almost empty. She feels full suddenly, but doesn’t know what to say without hurting Emily’s feelings.

“Not so sure about that, babe,” she replies, blushing.

Luckily, Emily picks up on it, and doesn’t look the slightest bit offended, and takes the cup from her, putting it next to the flask.

“I am,” she glances at her, smiling. “You’re lovely, you know that?” she takes Emily’s hand in hers, when it drops down next to her, and strokes the back of it with her thumb.

“Is that the cough medicine talking?”

She swallows hard, forcing away what feels like another coughing fit. “No. It’s me talking.”

Emily’s blush deepens and she shakes her head, as if she wants to say something, but stops herself. Instead, she leans over, and kisses her tenderly, cupping her face. It’s the first one that’s really lingered, and it makes her realise now much she’s missed the way Emily touches her. It always makes her feel like she’s something valuable and important. Emily pulls away reluctantly, hand still in place, thumb sweeping against her cheek.

“Audrey then?”

“Audrey,” she echoes.

Emily roots around for the remote to turn on the telly in the corner. She pulls her close, and Emily’s arm threads around her neck, pulling her closer still. She lets her head drop on to Emily’s shoulder, like she has so many times before. Emily doesn’t turn to her, but she does smile, and starts to stroke her head, fingers threading through her hair.

“That’s nice,” she murmurs, letting her eyes briefly flutter closed, enjoying the sensation.

“Yeah?” Emily doesn’t turn this time, mouthing the words every time Audrey speaks. It’s adorable, and makes her heart soar unexpectedly, because something else she loves about Emily just chose to reveal itself.

“Yeah. This is nice too,” she comments, still watching Emily watch Audrey, fascinated.

She doesn’t often think that her life is perfect, but being with Emily, just the two of them like this, definitely is. She wants to keep this moment, keep this day, because she’s terrified of waking up tomorrow feeling even worse. Emily’s touches and Audrey’s voice are making it hard to stay awake, and she wants to, she really wants to, because their time is so precious. Her eyelids grow heavy, and Audrey and George start to blur. She doesn’t have the strength or the will to fight it anymore. She’s safe with Emily. Protected. Cocooned on this little island of theirs. For now.


End file.
